


Playing dead

by VenusInHell



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Death, Hand Job, Implied Murder, M/M, Masturbation, Necrophilia, No penetration, Stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusInHell/pseuds/VenusInHell
Summary: His droopy eyes were fixed at the food on his plate, his mouth was shaped like a sad half moon with his chin pressing against his sternum. His head felt too heavy for him to hold it upright, it hurt as though someone had bashed him on the back of his head with a sledge hammer. Cold drops of sweat were having a race across his temple, then dropped onto the floor like blood.Jisung notices that Minho is really good at playing dead.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	Playing dead

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.  
> Please read the tags. If you feel like I missed a TW, please let me know.  
> Yes I'm okay. 
> 
> I really don't care if you don't like the fic but I care a lot if you do.
> 
> Also, let me brag about the fact that this fic was translated into Russian! Read it [here!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/10271736)!!  
> Thank you so much!

His droopy eyes were fixed at the food on his plate, his mouth was shaped like a sad half moon with his chin pressing against his sternum. His head felt too heavy for him to hold it upright, it hurt as though someone had bashed him on the back of his head with a sledge hammer. Cold drops of sweat were having a race across his temple, then dropped onto the floor like blood. He wondered why he was sweating so much in a room where the temperatures were so low it was the same as sitting inside an enormous fridge.

The beating of his heart was slow, every breath was a challenge, every time he blinked he felt his body getting weaker.

The food on the table in front of him, untouched and innocent, was glaring at him angrily, almost as though it wanted to be crushed between his teeth, swallowed and devoured until nothing of it was left, all the evidence of it ever existing removed.

Jisung felt bad.

He'd placed the food on the table almost half an hour ago and he was still waiting for the other person opposite him to start the meal, but nothing. His friend didn't move an inch, didn't even do as much as blink.

Jisung ran his cold hand across his temple, erasing the beads of sweat from his slushy skin. He dried his fingers on his shirt and then pressed the tip of his pointer finger against the spaghetti. They were cold, almost stiff. Jisung looked over to his friend, cold and stiff. A deep sigh escaped his throat. 

His stomach made a dreadful noise, cried for food. Jisung's cheeks turned all pink and red. He pressed his flat hand against his belly, trying to suppress another growl. A quick glance at his friend, no reaction. Jisung feared that his friend might've heard something, but no. His friend hadn't moved and yet Jisung didn't dare take another breath, leaving his hand where it was, pressed against his flat stomach.

He was eagerly gnawing at his lips until the bitter taste of blood corroded the surface of his greedy tongue. It felt relieving, yet his hunger got worse. He lifted his head, looked up the ceiling. His vision was blurry, his pupils were jittering, making him feel dizzy and nauseated like he'd downed ten bottles of Soju. Maybe not drinking anything at all had the same effects as drinking too much? The bubbly water in the glass next to the food had died a long time ago.

But Jisung didn't want to be impolite. He was the younger one, shouldn't eat before his hyung. 

What if he wasn't going to touch his food at all?

Jisung slowly looked at him, focused his eyes. Did he not like spaghetti? Impossible. Jisung had seen him order spaghetti over and over again, at this obnoxious Italian restaurant that his friend loved so much and that Jisung hated with all his guts. His friend would always order number 23 on the menu, spaghetti carbonara, pronouncing the dish in this utterly exaggerated Italian accent even though the waiter was clearly Korean, clearly didn't speak a single word Italian and clearly hated his job more and more with every day. Yet Jisung was smiling. The sound of his friend's voice filled him with joy, kissed him on his lips, brushed through his hair and smiled at him. When the waiter left his friend's table and passed Jisung's, he grabbed his hand and told him to get him whatever the young gentleman at the table over there had ordered. Jisung never touched his food, never even tried it, but he'd liked the idea of ordering the same dish as his precious friend.

But today, it seemed as though his friend wasn't hungry at all. Jisung felt the urge to cry.

"Well, are you not hungry?" There was a polite smile on his face when he talked, he nervously scratched his thigh with his hand, rubbed his palm on it until it started to feel numb. He was surprised at how loud and clearly he'd managed to speak despite feeling so weak, despite being around his crush. Everything to drown out the dreadful noises that came from his stomach, noises that resembled those of the painfully slow slaughter of a puppy. He wondered when he'd last eaten but he couldn't remember, couldn't even come up with a lie. It felt as though his stomach was filled with nothing but gas and dead skin from his lips and fingers, ready for decay. He glanced at his friend, scoffed. The dirty smell of decay.

He was left without response but it was no surprise to him. Minho had never really talked around him but if he did, it always seemed as though he was angry at something. Usually he was a loud and outgoing person, well, he used to be, at least when he was around other people, those that he referred to as friends. But this cheerful persona was just a facade, another Minho that he'd created for himself, a mask he liked to put on because others really loved the look. Minho had failed to realize that it was the mask of a clown whose sole purpose was to please everyone around him except for himself.

Just when was the last time _he_ was pleased?

Jisung coughed, covered his mouth and coughed again. He whispered a little sorry, smiled. 

"I guess you're a little sleepy, hm, aren't you? Your eyes seem so heavy, just like mine." Jisung smiled but almost melancholically. "Or are you playing dead again? You’re so good at it, you win."

Silence. Then the fork that Jisung had placed in Minho's hand slipped from his fingers and hit the tiles with a stirring sound. Jisung jumped up from his chair and clapped his hands over his mouth dramatically. He saw the world around him spin like a carousel in front of his eyes and before he could lose his balance, he dropped to his knees and crawled underneath the table to where his friend was sitting. He shoved Minho's legs aside a little, bent forward to reach for the fork and then blew away the dust, put it in his mouth and licked it clean and dried it on his sleeve. He carefully placed it in Minho's hand again just for it to fall to the floor just seconds after. Jisung was overcome with sadness.

"I guess you're really not hungry then, hm." He put up a weak smile for his friend, his crush. "It's fine, me neither."

Jisung's stomach was protesting, argued with his words and practically threw insults at him, but Jisung ignored it. He didn't want to force his hyung to eat. Maybe he just wasn't hungry, lost his appetite due to what he'd been through the past couple of months. There was his parents' divorce, the dramatic breakup with his girlfriend that followed right after.

And this vicious stalker that wouldn't let go of him.

Minho had decided to be on his father's side during the process of the divorce, even though it was him who had cheated on his wife and even though Minho had always loved his mother more. But he needed the money his father was earning. It seemed as though Minho wasn't able to keep a job for more than a month, it had left him depressed and angry. His emotions had brought him to escalate, made him unlikeable and unbearable. His girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, dumped him after he lost yet another job that she'd helped him get. A boring office job that didn't suit Minho anyways. You've changed, Minho. Grow up. That's what she'd said to him, to his tired face, on the day they broke up in the Italian restaurant. Jisung believed that she'd hated it almost as much as Jisung did.

That day she'd ripped Minho's heart out of his rib cage with her soft, bare hands and when she left she threw it into the first trash can she came across. She'd been cruel to him. From the little table in the corner where Jisung had sat, he'd seen Minho's eyes shimmer with tears, but those tears never managed to escape the prison of his eyes, never got to experience the freedom of his cheeks. He'd just left them to dry until they became one with the air.

Jisung took a deep breath.

Looking at Minho now, however, was a completely different scene. He seemed calm, not happy but also not sad. Balanced. There was no reason to worry about him anymore, now that he was safe.

Minho had long stopped hanging out with his "friends", those friends that had come with his ex-girlfriend and that she'd taken with her when she left him. He didn't need them anyway, they didn't deserve Minho, just like that girl didn't deserve him either. Jisung believed Minho's mother to be dead, though he wasn't quite sure and neither was Minho himself, but her ceasing to exist would also cease Minho's pain of having deceived her. 

And though this stalker that Minho had, Jisung got goosebumps all over his body just thinking about him, was still out there somewhere, looking for his lover, he wouldn't be able to find Minho.

Jisung had rescued him. He'd brought Minho to a safe place where no one could do him harm, where he couldn't even harm himself.

It had taken such a long time to save Minho. Jisung had followed him around for months to make sure this sick bastard of a stalker didn't hurt him. He recalled the countless nights he'd kept guard in front of Minho's apartment in case the stalker tried to break in. He'd sent Minho thousands of messages to make sure he was fine.

But all those efforts and the stalking still seemed to get worse, Jisung knew he had to do something. He couldn't wait anymore, he had to get his poor friend to a safe place.

That's where they were now. 

Jisung looked for the fork, this time it had landed in the pool of red paint underneath the chair. The smell was sickening, so different from actual paint. It smelled like rusted metals.

Jisung decided to leave the fork where it was, instead he glanced at Minho's motionless hand. It was cold and stiff, yet so loose and limp. Jisung wasn't even surprised that he kept losing grip of his fork. Poor him.

"I guess it _is_ quite cold in here." Jisung could feel it too, it seemed as though he could see his own breath in front of him whenever he exhaled, making him look like a chainsmoker. He suddenly found himself craving a cigarette, like an old addict, though he'd never touched cigarettes before. 

He got up onto his feet, grabbed the end of the table to hold his balance, and then he looked about the sad room. His eyes stopped at the heater, it was off, Jisung sighed. He'd turned it off quite a while ago. "Well, you know I can't turn it on. It would ruin you, it would ruin us, and you know that, right?"

Jisung smiled at Minho like a mother smiled at her child before abandoning it forever. Minho didn't say a word back but Jisung knew he understood. Leaning against the table now, Jisung took Minho's hand that had previously held the fork between its fingers and moved it to his lips, kissing it timidly. He couldn't determine whether his lips or Minho's skin was colder. Then he rubbed his own hands against Minho's in an attempt to produce some heat.

Not letting go of his hand, Jisung then shyly sat down on Minho's lap. He could feel his blood rush to his cheeks, giving them a natural blush. Sitting down felt good and relieving to his weak body. The sudden pressure on Minho's legs prompted his torso to bend to the side a little, almost as though he'd just fallen asleep, but Jisung was quick enough to catch him--even without waking him up. He cupped his cheeks on both sides, holding his head up in place, eyeing him with a content smile. He'd never realized how heavy a human head can be. 

Jisung liked being around Minho. They were similar in a weird way and different in every other. They had no-one left but themselves, each other, which was more than just enough.

Maybe they were made for each other. 

Minho had the face of an angel. Long lashes, porcelain skin with all those purple, blue and green hues. His mouth stood open a little, lips apart, they looked a little purplish, almost like he was wearing lipstick. His lips were dry, Jisung knew that the slightest touch could tear them apart and color them with a vibrant red. It left him wondering what they would look like covered in shiny lip gloss. If Jisung were to kiss him then, their lips would stick together like sweet glue, honey. A delicate fantasy.

Jisung carefully leaned Minho's head against the backrest of the chair, then he pressed his palms to his forehead and his neck. He was so cold. Jisung wanted to warm him but how, when his own hands were as cold as two icicles?

"I'm so sorry you're so cold." Jisung whispered, again he felt like bursting out in tears.

He took Minho's hands and pressed them against his own cheeks now, smiling at the soft touch. He was such a gentleman, was never rough with him but quite romantic with his shy touches. But Jisung couldn't stop thinking about how heavy his hands were, how weak his own were, too weak to hold them for a long time. When he let go of his Hyung's hands, they didn't stay on his cheeks like you would expect them to but he felt how they slid down his torso, brushed against his chest and his nipples under his shirt, his belly and _oh_. 

Jisung's face turned even redder, his body started tingling. He couldn't help but giggle. 

"Now, look where your hands are, sir!" Jisung cried out with his arms akimbo, scolding his wonderful friend. He still didn't get a response but he believed to have spotted a cunning smile on Minho's lips. "Where did the gentleman go, hm?"

He laughed and looked down at himself. One of Minho's hands was resting against his crotch, almost playfully pressing against it. The other hand was loosely hanging from his side. Jisung had always known that Minho wanted it too but maybe he'd just been too embarrassed to admit it, too shy to ask?

Then Jisung blinked. He moved in closer, put his ear to Minho's lips. Sounds, noises, hisses. Jisung giggled, covering his mouth. He playfully hit Minho against his chest with his flat hand, he looked like a teenage girl in love.

"You're so flirty," Jisung said but then he nodded, moving his head away from Minho. "That's your way of getting warm, you say?"

Jisung began to move his hips against Minho's hand, almost as though he was prompting them to do something, to touch him. His hand even felt cold against the soft fabric of Jisung's pants but it felt good in a weird way, making him feel like moaning at his friend's timid touch.

Minho was clever. It really was getting hotter.

Jisung took Minho's hand and softly navigated it into his pants. A shocked gasp escaped his lips, the cold hand on his sensitive skin felt like needles piercing through his flesh. It felt good, relieving. He held Mindho's hand at its wrist, moved it up and down his cock. Jisung got hard.

His free hand grabbed Minho's shoulder, fingers clawing at the fabric, searching for halt as he started to grind his hips against Minho's thighs, against his crotch. Jisung could feel Minho's soft dick through their pants.

The friction felt good, Minho's hand started to thaw between Jisung's hot thighs, sweat building up. His body started to move in coherence with Jisung's thrusts, his first real reaction today. It made Jisung smile.

His whole body felt numb, yet there were so many emotions suffocating him. He wrapped his hand around Minho's fingers, moved his hands faster. His mouth stood open just like Minho's, soft moans filled the dirty room. 

He felt his climax coming, his movements getting faster. Jisung's eyes curled up, his muscles tensed, his legs twitched. He felt the liquid shoot into Minho's hand, Jisung's breaths were uneven and hasty. He loosened the grip around Minho's wrist, removed both of their hands from his trousers. Then he cupped Minho's hand and softly put it against his cheeks, smearing the liquid across his face.

But he smiled at the now warm touch of Minho's hands, making him seem much more innocent than before. Jisung let go of Minho's shoulder, softly caressing his head, brushing through his hair. When Minho's head tilted to the side, his eyes fell open. Jisung smiled.

"Hm, hungry now?" Jisung raised his eyebrows. "Or are you playing alive now?"

He came closer to Minho, examined the look on his face. His eyes were staring into nowhere, at something that wasn't even there. He was covered in a weird smell, strangely addictive to Jisung. He looked at him with a pitiful smile when he whispered barely audible.

"Sorry, I win this time."

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. 
> 
> I have twitter. [VenusInHell](https://twitter.com/VenusInHell)
> 
> I have curiouscat. [VenusHell](https://curiouscat.qa/VenusHell)


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